Tuesday, May 25, 2004


Tayshaun's got wings! He's the financial advisor of this Big Basketball game, and he foreclosed on Reggie Miller's lucky streak. The Detroit Pistons made good on Rasheed Wallace's guarantee of a game two victory, defeating the Indiana Pacers on their home court, to tie the series at 1.

With time running out and the Pacers making a run, Tayshaun Prince, made what Pistons coach Larry Brown called, "One of the greatest hustle plays I've ever seen."

Prince galloped down the court after a fast breaking Reggie Miller, starting at least 5 or 6 paces behind the veteran guard.

Zorro faced Piston's guard, Richard Hamilton:
"When I saw Tayshaun chasing Reggie, I said to myself, 'Reggie better dunk it, or Tay's gonna get it.'"


Please, Rip! Reggie Miller ain't slamming a car door!

Indiana coach, Rick Carlisle called the Pisons, "a different kind of animal."


That's Tay on the left. He's shy.

It was the highlight of a game that was about as exciting as watching a Bergman movie on Percocets. Don't be scurred of scorrring, babies. The series moves to Detroit, where Indy must bring some true Road Warrior shit to get back in the mix.

Monday, May 24, 2004


Things got all unsportsmanlike last night at the Target Center, where Minnesota tied up their Western Conference Finals series with the Lakers, 1-1. Despite no Sam Cassell--who pulled an Estelle Getty, and kept his battered hips on the bench--the Wolves came out gunning...

And smacked the Lake show in the mouth a little,winning big at home, 89-71.

Things got a little heated towards the end of the game, when 7 technical fouls were handed out. Karl Malone got up to his usual good samaritan elbowing of people who are a foot shorter then him (Darrick Martin, HOLD YA HEAD, BABY!). Even Shaq got messy with former teammate, Mark Madsen. Luckily for the world's biggest Amy Grant fan, Gary Trent was in the wind to get his back.

"He pushed Mark and I pushed him (O'Neal). That was it,"

When asked if he was shook by Big Aristotle's solid frame and imposing glare, Trent responded:

"Be scared for what? For what? Be afraid of him. Everybody pumps blood and everybody can die..."

Trent then grew a unibrow and continued...

"Me on the other hand...I got an unknown past. Word has it I was trained as a Samurai and then wound up in a experimental program in the Canadian military. Some people seem to think I went to University of Ohio for a minute. I can't call it. I don't really remember too much of it. I got motherfucking adamntium bones and muscle tissue that regenerates on it's own, and big fucking claws that pop out my hand whenever I fly into a beserker rage. Which happens on a dime. Just ask Flip. So, Shaq fucking Diesel, I wouldn't get to comfy down on the low block...Ya big goofy Shazam-acting trick. Snikt, snikt."

Thursday, May 20, 2004


Chris Webber's suicide note got one paragraph longer last night. Kevin Garnett became a Hall of Famer, we found out that Sam Cassell's one hip is worth 23 points, and Flip Saunders brushed the dandruff of the Minnesota playoff curse right off his shoulder. T'Wolves 83-80 over the Kings.

As Webber watched a last second, open 3 rattle in and out of the hoop, Keving Garnett bounded onto the scorer's table:

""[TNT broadcaster and former NBA guard] Steve Kerr made a comment that I was up on the table jumping up and down and how I was a little [excited] about the win... Steve Kerr's never been out in the first round seven straight times."

Yeah, and Steve Kerr never had to throw a franchise and a city on his back and deal with the fact that his starting point guard had an 80 year old woman's hip, his Coach couldn't decide on a rotation, his prize free agent center played like he was imitating Nicolas Cage in Birdy, and starting shooting guard had a broken back! WALLY SZCZERBIAK STAND THE FUCK UP! UNLESS THAT HURTS THEN FEEL FREE TO SIT DOWN!

Steve laid in the cut, playing with Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, David Robinson, and Tim Duncan. So he can help himself to a plate of...


Wednesday, May 19, 2004


There'll be manslaughter right in front of the kids. Family values run Mobb Deep in Indiana. After ending the Heat's cinderella playoff run, down in Miami, the Pacers sat back and regarded the crushed dreams of the Heat hopefull. Particularly sensitive was Pacers forward, Al Harrington...

''That's the type of team we are. We like to ruin stuff for people.''

Guess what, Al. All them folks at the American Airlines arena? THEY STILL LIVE IN FUCKING MIAMI. SO THEY ARE GOOD. Have fun back in the tall corn, Gangster.

Harrington continued: The girl in The Crying Game is a dude. Holler.

Despite the victory, the Pacers copped some bumps and bruises. All world power forward, Jermaine O'Neal caught an eye jammy:

According to the Indy Star:

O'Neal was poked in his left eye by Butler's finger on the play, and received treatment on the Pacers' bench. His eye was still watering afterward.

O'Neal pondered his seeds in his time of temporary blindness:

"I'll take this home and show my daughter. It's the reason I don't want her playing basketball."

Cross that off your list of ambitions, baby.

In other Pacers news...

Scott Pollard still gets no clock, as Coach Rick Carlisle continues to play Time Bandit, stealing all his P.T. Pollard lamented to the Miami Sun-Sentinell:

"I'm a guy, I like being on a winner as opposed to being a star on a loser. ... I'd like to contribute more, obviously."

After taking a pull on the peace pipe, Scott became even more reflective:

Scott: It's okay here, Bro. It's pretty cool. Most of the guys have been chilled out, on a chilled vibe. Ron gets a little...intense sometimes. I was once playing my CD of The Pearl's Ten, you know? And, Ron, I don't think he really digs McCready's leads, or something. Because he whipped this thing out..it kinda looked like a matress spring or something and it had been straightened out...and it was really...sharp. Really sharp.

I just kept thinking of this thing the Vedder once sang: "Life comes...i can feel your heart through your neck...like some...i can steal your heart from your neck." Gnarly.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004



"It's Game 7, man. That's it. It's for all the marbles,"

As in Chris Webber has some marbles. And soon he will be without them.

"Sitting in the house, I'm loadin' up the pump. I'm loadin' up the Uzi. I got a couple M-16s, a couple 9s. I got a couple joints with some silencers on them. I'm just loading clips, a couple grenades. I got a missile launcher with a couple of missiles. I'm ready for war."

Goodnight, Saigon.


It's about time for Rash to plantar his facitis in Rich Jefferson's ass. I once saw R.J. eating a big ol' plate of eggs with a white girl at some spot on 2nd Ave. It was a good look for him. But Rasheed Wallace getting his Beastmaster on on Thursday night's game 7...that is not such a hot look.

As a weary New Jerz squad drags their tired asses to suburban Detroit, you've gotta think that the Pistons will be firing. Despite being hobbled by crazy bunyon issues or whatever, Rasheed Wallace plans on bringing his A-game to this doe-or-die situation. Not that he's sweating it. Rash told the Detroit News:

"Pressure? This isn't pressure and this is not pain. Afghanistan, Iraq and that other place, Croatia and Bosnia..Now, that is pressure."

Word up, kid!

Wallace continued...

Rasheed: Richard!! Stick to white girls and scrambled eggs, baby! You in Motown now, and that high flying dunking shit is about as kosher as pork on my fork. AND THAT AIN'T KOSHER, B! Try some of that airborne ish and you will be like a Blackhawk, and the God, Rasheed, will be a RPG or some other shit they use to take down choppers. Word to Sam Sheppard.

Of course, if Rasheed's athlete's feet act up too much, Coach Larry Brown always has another option. The Detroit News also checked in with the little ray of sunshine at the end of the bench:

'Out comes Milicic, bleach-blonded head bopping, grooving to T.I.'s, "Rubber Band Man."'

Darko: Who I'm is? Donnie Darko! What, you got borscht in your ears?! This ain't no album, this ain't no game. Look how they got me sitting on the bench. Ayo, Dumars! I ain't Swedish, and I don't work at Ikea. SO GET ME AWAY FROM THIS FURNITURE AND LET ME DO MY DAMN THING. I've paid my dues. Ben Wallace went and broke my collar bone 14 times in two months! That shit hurt! Then I got this little carpet bagger yanking on me:

"Larry! Get the fuck off me! Let me live! You got Tayshaun Prince out there like you think he's Bernard King. Don't let the mop top fool you, that's just something I do for the lovely Svetlana's in the Auburn Hills (hey, boo!). I will shoot at these actors like movie directors. AND THIS AIN'T A MOVIE, DOG! Free T.I. in 2004 and Free Darko right now!"

Monday, May 17, 2004


I think the Wolves will win game 7. I think they will win because all the energy that Kevin Garnett saved up when he didn't turn Anthony Peeler's head into a canoe, will be channeled into dropping the Kings like a high school girlfriend in the second semester of your freshman year.

But that being said, let me say this.

This dude:

Is not the same as this dude:

so, this dude:


I am not a fan of the Lakers. I don't think that Phil Jackson lending Michael Jordan a copy of All The Pretty Horses and winning a bunch of rings with the three best players of the last 20 years really makes him a good coach. I don't particularly want to see Kobe hoist another trophy, or give Karl Malone or Gary Payton the satisfaction of feeling vindicated for their wringer-dom.


If the Kings win, I want the Lakers to annihilate them.

I hope Kobe averages 47 a game and breaks up Doug Christie's marriage. I hope Shaq and Mailman play ping pong with Brad Miller's head and feed his remains to Malone's pet cougar. I hope Gary Payton rediscovers his early-90's mojo and starts tossing Spiderman alley-oop's to Devan George who will be mimicking the Skinny-yet-Muscular-era Shawn Kemp.

I am so sick and fucking sick of watching the Kings, with their SUV-driving, fake boobs-having, glow-stick throwing in-bred fans, their playboy owners, and their psuedo-underdog persona. I hope Rick Adleman, his career in ruins is forced into retirement, living out his days consulting Today's Man on turtlenecks. I hope Bibby is so crushed by defeat that he shaves his chin strap. I hope Webber either a) becomes a Bobcat, or b) is relegated to being a walk on extra in a D.L. Hughley sitcom.

For years we've been forced to watch these hosers flop and cheap shot and cry their way to the top of the Western Conference heap, only to be crushed by the Lakers. And after watching these guys, who were playing like they were trying to steal lunch money all day on Sunday, I want to wacth them get crushed. I mean, if the Lakers are going to win anyway, at least give me that


The Pistons, led by the strangely zen-ed out Larry Brown, who blissfully smiled as his team crumbled under the mighty offensive skill set of Brian Scalabrine, blew game 5 in triple overtime on Friday night. This despite the rocking Auburn Hills, filled to the brim with Schlitz-fuled middle-management General Motors exec's, the half-court heroics of some dude with the initials C.B., Kenyon Martin fouling out early, and Jason Kidd clearly playing with one knee donated to science.

At one point, with the Pistons trailing by just a few points, but fading, and with Richard Hamilton on the bench with too many personal foul infractions, this reporter thought he caught a glimpse of madness in Larry Brown's eye. For a brief moment I thought, he's going to put in Darko...but alas, Never Porous Corliss Williamson was called to duty.

Motown then took it to the swamp, and actually looked like a cot damn basketball team, wearing down the Nets and beating them 81-75 in Dirty Jerz, last night. Aside from Ben Wallace's typically psychedelic 20,000 rebound night, Rip Hamilton made the difference, taking advantage of Jason Kidd. Said the masked Detroit 2 guard:

"I know he expends so much energy on the offensive end -- he's the catalyst for that team, he's got to score, pass and rebound, so I just tried to make him work on the defensive end...I think I'm in the best shape in the league running-wise, I can run forever."

Have an Orange Julius, son! You ain't selling drugs in a school zone and you ain't Carl Lewis. Besides, your crazy, clear Zorro mask would get mad irritating were you to run forever. Just beat Lawrence Frank's gang on Tuesday.

After his game 5 display of George Gervin-like offense, Brian Scalabrine was relegated to the end of the bench again, logging 10 minutes of PT and fat fucking donuts in the rebounding and points columns.

Et tu, Lawrence?

Thursday, May 13, 2004


The Heat continued to shock the world and shock Rick Carlisle, last night, tying up their series with the one-seeded Pacers. While Lamar Odom went Jesus on their asses, Indy, save Ron Artest and Jermaine O'Neil, went limp. This is now a series. Shit got hectic towards the end of the game when Jamaal Tinsley was tossed for showing a little too much affection for throwing Heat guards on the ground. Even Artest got a flagrant for clotheslining rookie sensation, Dwayne Wade. After the game, film buff and hard-bodied reserve forward, Malik Allen had this to say:

Malik: Yo, Ron. All respect due, son. Respect due. But put hands on my man, Wade, one more time?! Oh shit, son. I will be Man On Fire, D. will be Dakota Fanning and you will be shady ass Mexican people who I blow up! You thought Tony Scott's vividly rendered hell-scape was real?! Wait 'til Malik the 6-foot plus Freak gets to you, son! No doubt. Hombre en fuego, bitch.


Weaponry listens to love. And Flip Saunders loves his weaponry. No doubt. Just look at his arsenal. He's got the MVP, Latrell, Sam Cassell. Shoot, you don't even need a game plan! But letting his Big 3 handle the offensive workload would sort of take the fun out of coaching for the king of the middle-part. Nah, when Flip looks down at the reserve's he's got in McHale's Navy, he knows he's got some firepower squirelled away like Hussein! And in last night's pivotal (aren't they all?) game 4 against the Kings, Saunders chose one man to drag his team to a 3-1 lead over the soft like velvet Kings.

Gary Trent. Gary fucking Trent. With Michael Olowokandi wandering around like a runaway teenage girl at Jefferson Airplane concert in 1969, committing 3 turnovers in like 10 seconds, Flip was forced to rely on old man Ervin Johnson and Gary Trent to take the front court load off of KG. Trent, who one of the ESPN commentators (I wasn't paying attention to who it was), said isn't really playing his game if he isn't getting his shots, played with all the awareness of someone who had just been hit in the back of the head with a bag of rocks, including blown layups, and Vlade-style flops (minus the foul call). Kudos.
Minnesota got within 3, and then let the game slip away. With KG doubled all night, you'd think the ball would move to Spree! To Sammy! Shit, give it to the Mayor, Freddy Hoiberg!! But no. Gary. Trent.

Next time, Flip...Go with God. Go with Madsen:

Wednesday, May 12, 2004


Yes indeed. Yesterday was task force Tuesday and we all had to slog through those two boring ass games. Don't even front. I love Detroit, but them dudes make watching hoop about as much fun as learning French and getting dental surgery at the same time. When the most exciting thing happening in a series is two old ass white men (Nets GM, Rod Thorn, and Pistons' head carpet bagger, Larry Brown) sniping at each other, you know you got problems.

And despite the fact that Tony Parker is becoming a star in the Spurs-Lakers series, it doesn't change the fact THAT I AM MAD TIRED OF WATCHING THESE FUCKERS PLAY EACH OTHER. Can we just fast forward to a game 7 already? Please, Dave Stern!?


The 1-4 games are on some The Shining type of crazy. We can talk about The Miami Vices straight up agitating Rick Carlisle's blown-dry serenity in a little bit...

But the T-Wolves/Kings series is where it's at. The Wolves went up 2-1 on Sac. with Kevin Garnett becoming a super nova bursting at the seams, and the Wolves look like they might have the Kings on the run. Says Sam Cassell, "I just tell everybody, 'Don't be overzealous about anything we've done so far,."

Sam continued, "Look at me, dog. I am clearly an extra-terrestial being. Look at my head, baby. So I have perspective, mang. We just need to be easy, drink that creatine, play some Max Payne 2, stay focused, and we will bang these fools all the way back to Cali, Cali! Peace to my home planet of Zoron, I'm out."

But Sammy is in too deep to be out! When the Wolves are in the house you better come equipped!